Ten
by DyrraDegan
Summary: It's 10 years after the death of Kriea and the destruction of Malachor V. The Exile is the founder and head of the new Jedi Academy but her ordered life is thrown into disarray when someone from her past desperately needs her help. LSFExile
1. Chapter 1

_10 years after the fall of Malachor, the death of Kriea and the loss of Bao Dur. Master Miriya Vohn, formerly known as the Exile is the founder and head of the new Jedi Academy. In the years since Malachor, her crew helped her rebuild the training facilities. Mandalore returned to his men on Dxun, overseeing the rebirth of his people. His tenacity and solid leadership inspired Visas so much that after the rebuild was completed and her training came to an end she left in search of other Miralukans and began the monumental task of rebuilding her home world. Mira and Atton also completed Jedi training under the watchful eye of the Exile and spent the early years of the Academy searching the Galaxy for force-sensitives to send to their Master. Now they are both top instructors in their respective fields. Atton's natural charm has served him well as an instructor of curriculum and he is adored by his students. He teaches younglings to hear the Force, older students to bolster their abilities with it and all to defend themselves against the intrusion of the Dark Side. He is also a Jedi Ace and trains a small squadron of elite Jedi pilots. Mira's Mandalorian upbringing is her strength and she instructs prospective Jedi in weapons and combat. Her skills are second to none and she has produced some of the finest fighters that the Exile has ever seen. At the request of President Onasi of Telos, Mical left the academy six years ago to take a post as a diplomat. He is now a widely respected Galactic Senator and Judge and his recent appointment to a high-profile corruption trial has thrust him into the news in the past few weeks._

The Exile smiled wistfully as she snapped off the news monitor. Senator Mical D'Artagne had barely changed at all in ten years. He had the same large, honest blue eyes, the same soft blonde hair and the same smile as the day she met him. There wasn't a hint of age, no lines and no graying at the temple. In that respect, he was a lot like her former Master Loren Kavar. That man had never looked older than thirty, even right before his death at sixty-seven. A sharp rap at the door snapped her attention back to the present. "Enter," she called casually.

The door swung open to reveal Atton Rand with a slightly tense expression on his face. Not wanting to appear unconcerned at his distress, she hid the pleasure that she felt creeping into her features. Even as a Jedi Master and Instructor he still had the same rumpled, casually sexy look that he bore as her pilot. There were no other words for it and the robes couldn't hide it. The man was as magnetic as the poles of Yavin Prime. His thick dark hair hung carelessly over one hazel eye and she found herself wishing that she had a credit for every young Padawan she caught staring and blushing at him. She leaned back in her chair, waiting for him to plop down opposite her and lift his feet onto her desk.

It didn't happen.

"Atton, what is it?" she asked, leaning forward, her concern rising.

He bent his right elbow, slowly raising his forearm and revealing a small memory chip tucked between his index and middle fingers. "It's an encrypted message that just came in…I wanted to bring it to you personally," he said seriously.

Her brow furrowed with worry as she reached forward, taking the chip from his long fingers. He rounded the edge of her desk, standing behind her left shoulder as she inserted it into her desktop system and played it.

"Greetings," came a static-filled voice as the small hologram of a Mon Calamarian rose from the surface of her desk, "My name is Rab Bakra and I am the chief aide to Senator D'Artagne. My master advised me that if circumstances ever became dire that I should contact you, Master Vohn. I have sent you this message because he has fallen ill. The Senator has contracted Knowt's disease and has been hospitalized. He is stable, but he is in very serious condition. Please Master Vohn," he continued, lowering his voice, "I…I have a bad feeling about all of this. I have never known the master to suffer from even the slightest illness. Considering the nature of the trial he was set to judge, his diagnoses seems a bit too convenient to me. I am troubled because the Senate has only postponed the case dependant on his health. If there are…other factors at work, I am concerned about what might happen to him. Please Master Vohn, I don't know who else to turn to…he's in the secure diplomatic wing of the Central Coruscant Hospital. I have arranged for your admission, but you will be known as his sister Miriya D'Artagne. Tell no one of your true identity. I will keep this out of the news for as long as I possibly can. Please…hurry…"

With that, the message flickered and disappeared.

Miriya frowned and immediately turned to her database, pulling up information on Knowt's Disease.

It wasn't good.

Knowt's Disease attacked the tissues of the body, breaking them down beginning with the limbs and ending with the chest cavity. Death was assured and to date there was no known cure.

Biting her lip, she searched again, this time looking for potential treatments, experimental or otherwise. She started slightly at the hand on her shoulder. She had forgotten that Atton was there.

"Whaddya say, Chief?" he asked quietly.

She turned and looked him in the eye. "I'm leaving within the hour, find HK and make sure he's on board."

"Right," he said, releasing her shoulder and moving around her desk to the door, "That'll give me just enough time to grab my squadron to take over my classes; I'll meet you on the ramp of the Hawk."

"Oh NO," she said sternly, planting her hands on her desk and standing quickly, "I have no idea what I'm walking into here, it could easily be a trap! There's no way I'm risking another Master. You may not have noticed, but there are only three of us here at the Academy!"

"Listen sister," he drawled, "My squad is the best of the best. They're more than capable of keeping things running while we're gone. You heard the squid yourself, you need to hurry and NO ONE can get you there faster than I can. You know it's true!"

Miriya crossed her arms stubbornly, rolling her eyes, "What is that you're always teaching about pride and where it leads Atton?" she snarked sarcastically. "Look, I don't have the time to argue with you right now so I'm not going to. I'm going to be on the Hawk in…45 minutes. I will be taking off in 50 minutes. If you can't get it together with all of your classes by then, I'm not waiting."

"Deal!" he cried, dashing out the door and snapping it shut behind him.

She pressed her fingertips to the bridge of her nose. "All of these years and some things never change," she muttered. Atton was as stubborn as ever. Miriya released her nose, grinning to herself. She had told him 45 minutes, but she was going to get off Dantooine as quickly as she possibly could.

Reaching for the communicator in her belt, she strode quickly towards her quarters, "HK, has Master Rand found you yet?" she barked.

"Statement No Master, I have not had any contact with that meatbag all day," he replied.

"Good," she said, "HK, I need you on board of the Hawk as quickly as possible. I want you to get to the medical bay and plug into the library. Search for Knowt's Disease, symptoms, treatments and anything else that can disguise itself as Knowt's, you got that?"

"Rrrrrroger!" the droid replied, "Will there be anything else, Master?"

"Yes, I need you to avoid Master Rand at all costs. He can't see you leave or board the ship and you can't answer him if he calls. Can you do that?" she asked.

"Exasperation Master, I AM insulted. You know that my primary functions include a stealth ability that is unfathomable to squishy persons like yourself and Master Rand. I can hear his particular brand of sloshing a mile away and avoidance will be easy."

"Excellent," she replied, "I'll see you on board in ten minutes."

With that she jammed the communicator back in her belt pouch and grabbed a small satchel, cramming in as many civilian substitutes for her robes as she could find. Satisfied she gave her room one last scan and headed out, avoiding all of Atton's usual routes and hoping that he was wasting plenty of time searching for HK.

Bounding up the ramp, she called cheerfully towards the Medical Bay, "Ok, let's prepare this baby for take off. I'm not waiting another second!"

"You got it," came a familiar voice from the cockpit.

"Dammit RAND!" she growled, stalking towards the source and glaring at the back of his head.

"What?" he slurred smugly, "You didn't think I actually trusted you to waste the better part of an hour, did you? I changed and came straight here. I made all of my calls from the Comms Terminal. Nice try though…"

"Just punch it, you smug bastard," she chuckled, breaking her stern façade and dropping into the seat next to him.

He laughed, urging the Hawk upwards, "You got it, Chief. Next stop Coruscant."


	2. Chapter 2

"OH!" Miriya shouted triumphantly, "Plus six more is twenty-four! I win, Rand! Let's see the colour of your credits!"

Atton smiled slowly, his hazel eyes glinting with amusement as he casually slid a ten in her direction. "Eh, it's been a while," he shrugged, stealthily tucking his unused /-2 card back into his deck and flipping his dark hair out of his eye, "I must be getting rusty…"

It had actually been years since their last game together. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed beating her and then watching her light up when he allowed the occasional win. She was unsurpassable as a Jedi Master, but as a card player, she was downright terrible.

"Ok," she sighed, standing and stretching, "How far out are we?"

"A little less than an hour," he replied, "You may want to hide those robes."

"That was next on my list. When we touch down, I'm going to grab HK and head for Mical's place. As his sister, I shouldn't have a problem staying there and nosing around. What are your plans?"

"Well," he began, "I was thinking of introducing myself as Jaq to anyone who asks, and heading straight for The Blast Pit."

"The Blast Pit?" Miriya asked.

"Yeah," Atton continued, "It's a cantina lodged right where three districts meet. The diplomatic sector, the working sector and the entertainment district. It's probably one of the most popular spots on Coruscant, great gaming, good Juma…beautiful girls…"

The Exile crossed her arms, gripping her elbows, and frowning slightly, "Just like old times, huh?"

He looked up, catching her expression and returning it with a slightly annoyed look, "Yeah, as a matter of fact. Do you know how long it's been since I've seen the inside of a cantina? At least six years. For me, that's just…well…CRIMINAL…"

"Rand…"she intoned, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, it won't be all play. That spot is the best place on the planet to gather information and you know it. Just don't get all worked up if I happen to have some Juma and a few rounds of Pazzak while I'm at it." he said, nudging her ankle gently with his foot and grinning roguishly.

She frowned deeply. One more nudge however and she broke, chuckling lowly, "Alright," she said, "Just promise me you'll stay in touch and keep me updated as often as you can."

"Sure thing," he replied, "It won't be easy, but I'll figure something."

Miriya paused for a moment, her memory triggered, "You may not have to…I think I have something that can help, I'll be right back…"

With that, she turned and headed towards the narrow corridor, pausing in the entryway and turning back to her pilot once more. "Atton?" she asked, almost shyly.

"Yeah?" he replied with a raised eyebrow.

"You know," she began, leaning slightly against the doorframe, "I haven't been on the Hawk or even away from Dantooine much in a lot of years. I don't like the reason for this trip, but it's…it's good to be aboard again and travelling with you…I...guess I'm glad you didn't let me dodge you…" she said.

"Well Miriya Vohn!" Atton cracked, flashing a wolfish smirk in the cabin light, "You're not getting sentimental on me, are you?"

The Exile felt her cheeks flame as his eyes smoldered a dark green. Atton Rand had not openly flirted with her in years. Mentally cursing her tell-tale skin, she looked him straight in the eye, the right corner of her mouth tugging upwards, "Maybe I am," she said casually, moving away from the doorframe and heading slowly down the hall, "Maybe I am…" she muttered to herself.

With her back turned, the pilot drifted from his momentary amusement and eyed her retreating frame with a thoughtful look. He rubbed his chin slowly and smiled at the way her body curved as she walked. It seemed like he had forgotten so much. Her presence on board, even something as simple as the sound of her footsteps in the main hold, triggered something inside him. He shook his head and turned back to the controls. Some things were best left in the past, alone and buried.

Miriya was still flushed when she reached the Med Bay. "HK, what do you have for me?" she asked.

The assassin droid angled his head towards her as a small panel on his index finger closed. "Statement" the droid began, "I have many things, Master and many possibilities. I have modified the injection system in my right hand. I am now able to extract and can readily analyze any sample with the databases I have downloaded from the ship's library."

For a brief moment, Miriya wondered how many victims HK had poisoned with that very injection system and was mentally thankful for the subtle changes that had been implemented in his system so long ago. His personality was essentially unchanged, but his programming had been expanded to allow him to aid his allies and to hold greater amounts of information.

"Good work," she said, "We'll be touching down soon, you'll accompany me as my protocol droid and I'll get you as close to Mical as I can."

"Statement I will be ready, Master."

With that, the Exile turned on her heel and headed towards Visas' old quarters in the Starboard Dorm. Passing the exit ramp and the entrance to the Garage, her eyes darted quickly to the right. Feeling her stomach sink sharply, she snapped her head forward once more and continued on to the Dorm.

Grabbing her hastily packed satchel, she sat on a lower bunk, opening it and emptying the contents next to her hip. There were so many things in there that she hadn't looked at in years, let alone worn. She wondered if the style of the clothes would give her away when she landed on Coruscant. Digging through the pile, she pulled out a plain, cobalt blue wrap woven from silkweed and placed it to her left. Further down lay a simple, ivory, sheath dress with a narrow, silver belt. She had worn it only once and that was four years ago when Mical was sworn in as a Senator. It was elegant, but simple enough to blend in on Coruscant. She also placed it to her left and neatly repacked her bag.

Standing once more, she removed her heavy belt putting her lightsaber on the bunk and lowering the rest of her Jedi accoutrements into a footlocker. Stepping into the dress, she pulled it upwards, clasping the modest halter behind her neck. Attaching the belt, she hung her lightsaber in its usual place over her right hip but pushed it to the small of her back when she noticed the drag on the delicate metalwork. Finally, she applied a light colour to her mouth and arranged her hair neatly in a braided updo. Feeling like she could blend in anywhere, she picked up the satchel and the wrap and headed towards the Garage.

The Garage.

In the ten years since the destruction of Malachor V, Miriya had only willingly entered it once. It seemed that no matter how many years went by, Bao's presence still lingered thickly in the space. Every surface, every circuit, every panel were unique to his design. She almost expected to see the familiar blue glow of his arm in her peripheral vision. Swallowing thickly she headed towards his station. Her grief had lingered for two years after his loss. No one had even remotely suspected the depth and breadth of her misery. Her iron control made the days pass uneventfully - she focused on the rebuild, on training her Padawans and often comforted them instead of dealing with her own feelings. The nights were always the worst. Without the distractions of the day, the loneliness would take hold and fear would set in. For two years she would sit awake for hours, tossing and turning. Even meditation was useless to quiet her thoughts.

In time however, the aching slowly subsided and she made an uneasy peace with his loss. She still thought of him every day, sometimes briefly, sometimes for a longer period, but the painful edges had been blunted. Now, she could smile when she remembered him without the underlying twinge of depression. Her only regret was that she'd been so hard on Atton and Mical in the years following his death. She had strongly rebuffed their attentions, heartlessly shutting down every attempt they made to get close to her. She suspected that her behavior had played a part in Mical leaving the Enclave initially. Neither of them had any idea of the reasons behind her actions. Her gentle, blonde Padawan had never been able to hide his feeling and she knew that she'd hurt him terribly. Atton, on the other hand, had simply shut down. He stopped flirting with her and closed up inside. She was certain that he'd taken many lovers over the years, but no one that she ever saw any visible evidence of. That he'd flirted with her during the Pazaak game that night had been nothing short of astounding.

The Exile sighed.

Reaching forward, she accessed a small, hidden panel that Bao Dur had built and, as far as she knew, had revealed only to her. Entering the code, it slid open to reveal a small cache of items. She reached in and grabbed a set of bright orange, modified communicators. Quickly sealing the panel once more, she leaned in and kissed it gently, rubbing it with her thumb. Feeling that the atmosphere in the room was slowly strangling her, Miriya quickly stepped into the main hold, setting her things down and testing the functionality of the communicators.

Within moments they were on the ground and Atton bounded out of the cockpit, "Hey, I want you to take this datapad," he called. "I've put in the addresses of where I'll be and some of my contacts…" The Exile turned towards the entrance as he appeared, stopping short and taking in the sight of her out of robes.

His jaw tightened, the casual companionability from the earlier Pazaak game evaporated immediately as she watched his walls go up. Whatever he was thinking, or might be feeling, she was not welcome to know it.

Suppressing a frown, she broke the silence by picking up her bag and reaching out to snap up the datapad from his fingers. "Thanks," she replied casually, holding out a communicator, "Take one of these, they transmit on an encrypted signal that changes every three seconds. They're impossible to crack."

Atton stepped forward, grabbing the device and looking it over, "Nice! Where'd you get these?" he asked, clearly impressed.

"These? Oh, I picked them up years ago, but don't let the age fool you, they really are second to none," she replied, turning and heading towards the exit ramp. Calling over her shoulder, she beckoned HK to join her.

"Wait!" Atton called.

The Exile stopped in her tracks as the pilot's footfalls rang out quickly behind her. In a moment, her blue wrap was draped over her shoulders as his large hands lingered for just a moment, the heat radiating into the sides of her neck.

"Just…y'know…so you, uh…don't get cold or anything," he mumbled awkwardly at the back of her head.

Miriya Vohn smiled, reaching upwards and brushing his fingers with her own as she pulled the cobalt ends tighter. "Thanks," she murmured, moving towards the exit as his hand slid away from her back. Looking over her shoulder, she locked her dark gaze on his wary, hazel eyes, "I mean it Atton, stay in touch and be safe…"

He smiled warmly in response, "I will…" he said.

In a moment, she was down the ramp and gone. Atton Rand stood, rooted to the spot and turning over his reaction to the scent of her hair in his head.


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm sorry Ma'am, but absolutely no one is permitted beyond this point without the proper clearance," the Senatorial Guard repeated for the third time

Miriya Vohn closed the door behind her with a gentle click and leaned back against the thick lumber of the doorframe. Closing her eyes, she sighed deeply, inhaling the rich scent of the wood and noted a slight, floral undertone in the air. It had been four frustrating hours since the Hawk touched down on Coruscant and she had accomplished absolutely nothing.

Using her hips to gently push away from the door, she turned, engaged the locks and headed towards the balcony. As she passed the bed, she tossed her satchel gently into the centre, rumpling the immaculate burgundy and gold brocade blanket and dislodging a tassled pillow.

The Coruscanti was truly a beautiful hotel. The floors were pale marble, shot with veins of gold, the walls were heavily gilded and painted frescos lined the halls. As stunning as it was, however, it was both an annoyance and an inconvenience to the Exile. She had been barred from entering Mical's home and had exhausted all avenues that might have permitted her to enter. From reasoning, to pleading, to intimidation. All had failed.

Continuing on towards the balcony, she paused a moment as she heard a low vibration coming through the wall.

Singing?

A strong, male voice was ringing through from the other side of the wall. The Exile couldn't make out the words, but the voice was rich, full and peppered with hints of familiarity. Miriya grinned to herself as the pleasure took hold. It had been so long since she'd heard music in any form. The students at the new enclave generally didn't sing around "Master Vohn." She couldn't recall the last time she'd heard a Jizz Wailer in a Cantina. The simple purity, the beauty of music had become a rarity in her world. It was astounding that such a muffled sound could do so much to lift her mood.

Unable to contain her curiosity, she continued on, grasping the smooth ivory handles of the glass doors and pushing outwards slightly. As she made her way out into the moonlight, the sound stopped abruptly.

"Damn!" Miriya muttered, frowning once more and gripping the railing. The word had barely left her mouth when the glass doors to the balcony on her right burst open. A man strode out into the moonlight, clad in two white towels – one was knotted at his hip and the other covered his head as he furiously rubbed it with his hands. He was humming the tune she had heard through the wall and the Exile arched an eyebrow as recognition set in.

He was tall and leanly muscled with lightly tanned skin and his movements were as familiar to her as her own. "Atton?" she called.

The humming ceased and the man in the towel straightened, turning towards her and pulled the white cloth from wildly rumpled hair, "Miriya?" he asked incredulously, "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't get into Mical's place; it was either fight or use the Force. Until I know exactly what's going on, I'm not going to do either, so I decided to cut my losses and take a room here," she replied. Pausing, she reached for her datapad and thumbed through the info, "Wait…what are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be staying at…Schmouli's House of Slam?"

The Exile narrowed her eyes and made a face as she tucked the datapad back into her pouch.

Atton leaned on the railing closest to her, folding his forearms in front of his bare chest and adopting a casual air, "Yeah, well, when I got there it just wasn't the same as I remembered," he said, "Not the classy joint it used to be, you know? What about you? I'm surprised that you gave up on Mical's place so soon?"

"I didn't," she replied, grinning impishly, "HK's breaking in right now."

Atton laughed, pushing away from the balcony and tossing his head sharply upwards. Miriya felt her cheeks burn. She'd never seen Atton Rand so close to naked before. The years as a Master at the Enclave had certainly been kind to him, he had the lean look of a hand-to-hand fighter. His body was all angles. His stomach was smoothly rippled, his arms showed every tendon, his legs were long and powerful and his towel clung perfectly to his tight backside. She took full advantage of his momentary distraction to drink in the sight of him.

Her eyes drifted until they stopped at his hands. It had been so long since she'd noticed them, longer still since she'd seen them out of gloves. The Exile had once loved his hands – they were strong and with slightly protruding veins that extended up his forearms. His fingers were long and masculine, but agile enough to fly over the Hawk's myriad of controls. In the years after Malachor V, from her post at the Nav Computer, she would linger just to watch him work. The sight of his hands running over the cockpit in strategic, controlled maneuvers was mesmerizing. He truly made the ship an extension of himself.

Sharply wriggling fingers tore her from her reverie. Starting slightly, Miriya looked up only to realize that she had been caught. Atton had certainly noticed her staring and his dark green eyes were sparking with mirth from under his tousled hair.

"Sorry," she said with a faint smile, "I was somewhere else…"

"Sure," he replied, holding her gaze, "Say…do you want to come over for a drink?"

"That depends Rand," she cracked, "You gonna put any pants on?"

"Ok," he replied, swaggering towards the door, "But it's your loss sweetheart…"

The Exile laughed, crumpling up her blue wrap and tossing it playfully at the back of his head, "I'll be over in five minutes…"


	4. Chapter 4

Miriya felt warm and giggly for the first time in recent memory. Her cheeks were flushed and moderately numb, her hair had loosened slightly from its braiding and she was noticing, seemingly for the first time, the distance from her eyes to her toes. Each one stood proudly upwards far away at the end of her outstretched legs. Waggling them slowly, they appeared to be waving a brief hello to her. Stifling a giggle, she mentally returned their greeting and pulled her attention to back to Atton. He was sitting diagonally across from her, cross-legged and with his back against the foot of the bed. At her insistence he'd put on pants, but that was it. He was barefoot and shirtless; his leanly muscled arms animated and eyes flashing excitedly as he related his escape from a notorious female Hutt named Shega.

"Anyhow", he continued, "For YEARS after that, I didn t understand why they were so interested in measuring my feet. But then I met you and it was clear when I saw you in that outfit for Durga."

The Exile s eyes widened, "You mean..." she stammered.

The pilot nodded sharply, green eyes wide as he shuddered, "Dance boots. I think they're ALL like that..."

Miriya crumpled forwards, laughing heartily until the tears came. It had been years since she'd allowed herself a night of pure fun and it was truly a cathartic release. Eventually she straightened once more, leaning her back against the cool wall and wiping her eyes.

"That stuff is really hitting you hard", Atton remarked bemusedly.

"S-sorry," she hiccupped, "I know I've only had two...three...wait four? But I haven't had Juma in years. As a matter of fact, it's funny that you mentioned Durga because you were there the last time I drank. Remember those two, quick shots before I danced?"

"That was it?" he asked incredulously, "That was the last time you had any fun?"

"THAT", she replied, "Was NOT fun!"

"Rrrrrealllllyyy..." he drawled, arching a brow in her direction. He uncrossed his legs and raised one knee, resting his elbow on it and raking his hand into his thick, dark hair. His eyes flashed as his voiced dropped to a low murmur, "It looked fun to me...wouldn't mind a repeat performance sometime."

Feeling her cheeks burn, she eyed him coolly for a moment, "You're drunk Rand..."

"No," he said slowly, a wicked smile crossing his lips, "I'm really not, but it's damned convenient that you are."

"What the hell are you talking about, Rand?" she asked in a deadly voice, her guard instantly raised as she watched him cautiously.

"Nothing to get yourself in a twist over," he said, grinning, "I just wanted to know something."

Her eyes narrowed, "Go on..."

"Who were you really dancing for that night?" he asked.

The Exile straightened as Bao Dur flashed through her memory. The question was totally unexpected and the Juma was forcing the images through her head at light speed. She remembered ten years ago as clearly as it was yesterday. She saw their comfortable silences in the garage at first, the gentle conversations that led to fingertips touching at the workbench, the first nervous kiss on Dxun and the dance. She saw him standing dispassionately with Atton by the exit, but later that night he'd torn the flimsy costume to ribbons. She remembered his soft voice, the expanse of his back, the smell of his neck and how it felt to be in his arms. Losing him at Malachor was the most excruciating thing she'd ever experienced and it had been her own, private grief for ten years. The images wouldn't stop, she saw herself coming across his body as she raced to the Hawk. Malachor was crumbling, he was twice her size but she carried him as easily as she would have carried a child, shattering like glass on the inside.

It was overwhelming, her dark eyes had dropped to her lap and she was sharply biting the inside of her cheek in an effort to keep her expression neutral. "It isn't this bad anymore, you're just drunk," she silently told herself in a repeating loop. After a moment, she raised her head, forcing her face into an off-kilter, drunken smile. "I was just trying to get through it. I barely remember it really..."

Atton's expression had changed, it had softened somehow but she couldn t put a finger on what he might be thinking. "I thought so," he said gently, his eyes shining with a keen intelligence that made her uncomfortable.

After a moment, Atton broke the awkward silence by standing and reaching a hand down towards her. The Exile eyed him curiously for a moment.

"C'mon," he said, waggling his long fingers at her.

Miriya put her hand in his and in a moment she was on her feet. The Juma made her head swim. Her vision blurred as she stumbled forward slightly, bumping into his chest. The pilot caught her easily, his strong hands gripping her upper arms tightly. He held her that way until she regained her balance. As her vision cleared, she tried to move back slowly, but he continued to hold her arms tightly, peering intently downwards at her.

"What?" she asked softly, the confusion evident on her face.

He didn't say a word, sliding his hands upward, his left skimmed across her shoulder blades pulling her close while the right tangled in her hair, tenderly guiding her head to his warm, bare shoulder. Shocked, the young master stood frozen, arms at her sides, suspicious at such an uncharacteristic show of affection.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Something I should've done ten years ago," he murmured in her ear, "I...we...I mean Mical and me we didn't KNOW, y'know? Who you were dancing for y'know? But I know now...no wonder you scratched at us like a Maalras every time we tried stuff..." he trailed off.

The Exile was silent, a knot forming in her throat and panic rising as she realized that her private pain had finally leaked out for someone to see.

"Why...why didn't you TELL us?" he asked, "I mean, I would've left you alone...all that stuff I said and tried...you must've hated me..."

Her suspicions vanished; the guilt in his voice was genuine so she tentatively raised her hands, palms splayed on the smooth, tanned skin of his back. Her left trailed slowly down his spine to the knot of muscle at the base. He pulled her closer as she gently rubbed the small of his back with her thumb. "I didn't hate you Atton," she began, "I just didn't trust you back then."

He stiffened slightly so she continued, "Wait, that isn't what I meant...I mean, I trusted of course. With my life, with the others and with the Hawk but I couldn't with what was going on inside me. Back then, when I decided to take you on I spent a lot of time worrying about your past and what direction that would pull you in if I were to train you. Pouring out my heart would have blurred the lines between master and student. You needed clear guidance and I wanted to do my absolute best. I wasn t going to lose you too..."

Atton Rand had relaxed once more, running his long fingers over the bare space beneath her halter. "And when I'd completed my training?"

Miriya smiled vaguely, "Ah yes, as I recall, you'd all but given up on me by then. We were so busy with the Enclave and our students. More often than not you would brag about zipping out to the nearest Red Zone to blow off steam. Sorry, but that didn t QUITE make me feel like opening up."

He chuckled lowly, "Yeah, I think for a while I was deliberately telling you about every time because I knew it pissed you off."

"Bastard," she replied, giggling softly.

"What about now?" he whispered.

The Exile thought for a moment, her cool cheek resting comfortably on the heat of his collarbone. "Now? Well...I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Atton released her carefully, raising his hands to her face and looking into her dark eyes.  
Leaning close, he started as his lips hit her fingertips. For a moment he looked almost annoyed.

"We're both very drunk Atton," she said smoothly, "I'm not saying no, but I'd be a lot happier if we were in our right minds."

The pilot released her slowly. "Alright," he said, "So long as you re not saying no."

Miriya smiled slowly, running her fingers along his left cheek, "I'm not, but for now I think I need to say goodnight."

With that she turned and precariously crossed the floor to the door.

"One thing?" he called after her.

"What is it?" she replied, looking over her shoulder.

"Did you ever tell any of this to blondie?" he asked guardedly.

The Exile laughed sharply, "Oh NO. Believe me."

"It's just for a while, I thought that maybe you and him...y'know...and then he left so..."

"NO Atton," she said firmly, "But that's another story, ask me about it again sometime."

"Ok," he said, smiling broadly, "G'night then."

"Good night."

Crossing the hall, Miriya Vohn entered her room once more and shut the heavy door with a gentle click. Turning towards the bed, she froze in her tracks at the sound a sharp, authoritative knock on the door. Returning once more, she turned the smooth, brass knob opening the door a crack.

Atton.

Before she could say anything, he pushed the door wide. Tugging her forwards into his arms he swept her low and brought his lips crashing down on hers. Her body flamed as her mind slipped out of focus. Completely incapable of thought, she responded eagerly, tasting him sweetly and running her hands along his back until she reached his wirey shoulders.

In a moment, she was on her feet and breathless. Flushed from head to toe.

"Now…" he gasped, "Now it's good night."

In a second the door had snapped shut once more as the Exile stood, gaping at the frame.


	5. Chapter 5

"...!!!..."

That sound!

The Exile grimaced, clutching her pillow around her ears and burrowing further down under the luxurious, Coruscanti bedspread. It was no use; the high-pitched drone tore through everything, burrowing deep into her ear canal. Within moments, she sat bolt upright, furiously flinging the pillow aside. "What HK, WHAT?!" she demanded.

"[Statement]: Why good MORNING Master! What a surprise to find you awake at this hour and...mostly in one piece..."

Teeth grinding, Miriya pulled the covers tightly to her chest. She was keenly aware of her hair. It had completely unraveled into a wild nest, but her mouth was another story entirely. That felt and tasted like a cavern inhabited by Mynocks. Eying the bedside chronometer, the young Master suppressed a groan as she realized it was 4:30 in the morning. She'd been asleep for just over three hours. As the haze evaporated, the details of her mission returned to her once more and she swung her legs out of bed to the floor.

"I'm sorry HK," she began, "But you've got to be the most sadistic alarm clock in the 'verse. That was the most annoying sound I've ever heard."

"[Modesty]: You flatter me, Master. The sound is of my own design. Naturally, the pitch and multi-tonal nature was designed to be used at much greater volume and at a varying frequency to aid in...compliance...but I have found that it has many, less interesting uses as well."

The Exile rolled her eyes and stood, reaching for her robe and knotting it tightly at her waist. At that moment, she heard the lock to her balcony doors click. Turning to the noise, she watched as they opened on their own, silently. A moment later, a black-clad Atton Rand sauntered in, extinguished lightsaber in his hand.

"Heard the noise," he explained as he snapped his weapon back on his belt, "Figured you might need a hand if that bucket of bolts decided to snap."

"[Statement]: I am incapable of snapping meatbag and if I did, you'd be of little use. I was inches from the Master's head before you finally sloshed upright in your bed."

"OK," the Exile said firmly, stifling the inevitable argument, "Now that we're both here, please tell me what you found HK."

"[Statement]: I found very little, Master. Almost nothing, in fact."

"What do you mean by almost?" she asked.

"[Explanation]: In finding nothing, it is conceivable that I found something. His home was meticulously clean which does coincide with his personality, but it was beyond the cleanliness of the average meatbag. I found no fingerprints on any surface, no residual clothing fibers on the furniture, no dust, blood or dried body fluids. Nothing at all to indicate that a human had ever lived there. I believe that the space was fastidiously cleaned after his removal to the hospital."

Miriya frowned deeply, this wasn't good. "Well...it seems to me that the next step is getting in to see him. I'll be heading down in a few hours, you'll come with me to get the samples we need. Atton, I'd like you to see if you can track down this Rab Bakra. I find it odd that we've been here this long without any contact."

"I'm already on it," he said, leaning on the edge of desk by the wall and folding his arms. "After you left I headed to The Blast Pit for a few hours. I've got some contacts working on it, but there's a few other places I want to squeeze later today."

The Exile smiled, in spite of their differences, it was amazing how they ran in sync during crisis. Atton Rand had become less of a subordinate and more of an equal partner over the years, his skill set perfectly complimenting her own. "That's excellent news, just keep me posted. Perhaps HK can be of assistance?" she asked as she turned towards the droid, "HK, would you head back to the Hawk and see what you can dig up on Bakra?"

"[Statement]: If it exists, I will find it Master." the droid said, clacking quickly towards the exit.

"Make sure you re back here for 9am!" she called.

"Rrrrrrroger!" HK replied as the door snapped shut.

The Exile turned once more to Atton, taking a moment to really see him. She'd always found him impossibly handsome, but that knowledge was more like a fact, almost a joke with no real emotion tied to it. It was true that she'd felt strongly for him in the first year that she knew him, but Bao and then his training had quickly taken precedence. His kiss had shocked her awake inside. It was like she could see every strand of dark hair that hung lazily over one hazel-green eye. Taking her time, she drank in the sharp angle of his nose and the curve of his chin, back to those lips and moving down to his clothes. He hadn't been out of robes for years, yet he'd made a spectacular choice. The black shirt was open at the collar and fit perfectly, lying smoothly over his stomach, the musculature just showing through the fabric. It also gripped his upper arms perfectly and the pants fit in a very similar fashion. So perfectly that she had to look away. Combined with knee-high, black leather boots and gloves he was nothing short of striking.

"That wasn t really necessary," Atton said, snapping her from her reverie, "You know I can find things that the systems can t."

His posture and features betrayed absolutely nothing of what happened a few short hours ago so Miriya immediately resumed her usual, professional tone.

"It can't hurt, Atton." she replied, "The more information we get, the faster this process will go. You know that time is very important right now."

"I know," he said, "I just wish you'd trust my methods. I don't need help."

"So that's it," she replied, knowing full well that he'd never gotten over his aversion to droids, "Look Atton, I do trust you and your methods. Whatever HK finds is a backup, use it or don't use it, it makes no difference to me."

"Fine," he replied, somewhat mollified, "Anyhow, I'm going to go catch a few hours sleep, you should too."

The Exile nodded, her curiosity beginning to pique at his behavior.

"So...see ya," he said casually, heading towards the open balcony doors.

"Yeah," she replied, "Good night..."

In a moment the ivory doors had shut with a gentle click and the young Master was alone, in silence once more. Crossing the smooth, marble floor, Miriya unknotted her robe, letting it slide in a ripple to the floor. In a moment she had returned to her place under the heavy mounds of brocade bedspread and clicked off the light. She frowned in the dark as his kiss replayed on a loop in her head. He'd unwittingly unlocked something that had been buried for over nine years. It was an aspect of her nature that she assumed died with Bao Dur on Malachor. It annoyed her that he'd switched back to neutral so quickly and she cursed herself for allowing that moment of weakness in the first place. Her mind a jumble, the Exile tossed and turned, sleeping fitfully until HK's inevitable drone at 9am.

"Why" she groaned, "WHY???"

"[Explanation]: Why effectiveness Master! This brings you to an alert state 3.32 seconds earlier than the next closest method."

"And what," she grunted, sitting and throwing her legs out to the floor, "is the next closest method?"

"[Response]: Mild electrical shock."

Miriya paused, pushed a tangle of hair from her face and eyed the droid sideways. "Huh...better stick with the noise then," she said casually, standing and heading towards the bathroom, "Stay here, I'll be ready soon."

"Roger," HK replied.

Within half an hour, both Master and droid were on their way to the Central Coruscant Hospital. A stop by the pilot's room had resulted in a brief, brusque conversation that had left the Exile in a singularly bad mood. Atton had answered every question with one word and his manner had been so casually dismissive that her confusion had turned to anger almost immediately. He'd done everything short of pushing her out of the room.

Fortunately, gaining access to Mical's room had proved much less complicated than she'd expected. Upon identifying herself as Miriya D'Artagne and HK as her protocol droid, she was swept through without any further delay.

The door to Mical's room opened automatically, the gears grinding slightly as the strong scent of bacta assailed her nostrils. All thoughts of Atton Rand vanished the moment she looked at him. Senator Mical D'Artagne lay under a thin, white sheet on what appeared to be a raised gurney. His face was slightly swollen, his neck angled back sharply as a large, white tube protruded from his mouth. A mask held the tubing in place as a nearby machine hissed the breath into his lungs. As the Exile neared his bedside, her chest clenched sharply. In her haste, she'd been utterly unprepared for the sight of him under heavy sedation. His body was like an empty shell as the machine hummed, his chest rising and falling in mechanical rhythm. His arms and legs had shriveled down to half their normal size which was the first physical evidence of the disease that was consuming him.

For his part, HK swept into action, discreetly taking a blood sample and harvesting a few blonde hairs for analysis.

Miriya's head swam with memories. From their first meeting in the bottom of the temple, to their meditations aboard the Hawk, to Malachor, to the early days of the Enclave rebuild and beyond. He'd been so steadfast, so eager, so enthusiastic and his love for her had been utterly pure. She'd hurt him terribly with her distance and aloof demeanor. Mical just wasn't cut from the same cloth as Atton. He felt everything and when he cared, he cared deeply and wore it unabashedly. The Exile felt her eyes sting as she looked down at his broken body.

"HK..." she whispered, "Leave us..."


	6. Chapter 6

_"When I look at you I see hope for all life…"_

Miriya Vohn took Mical's hand gently, surveying the damage. The disease had quickly consumed most of the musculature in his limbs. His joints protruded, large and round, surrounded by sunken flesh. It was alarming to her that his once-powerful upper arms had disintegrated to the point of resembling her wrists. She ran her fingers over the raised knots of his knuckles, grimacing at how rough and dry they were. It was like holding the hand of a very old man. The residual warmth was the only sign of life.

Taking a moment to think, she reached up with her left hand, gently stroking his soft, blonde hair. It was sobering to see him in this state. In the beginning, Mical D'Artagne had been the "kid" amongst her crew. He was called as much by Canderous, Mira, and scathingly so by Atton. In spite of their ribbing, his was an absolutely brilliant physician, innovative beyond anything she'd ever seen. He was also a gentleman who remained true to his courtly manners, taking all jabs with grace and gentle, good humour. Back then his natural gift for diplomacy was apparent to anyone who encountered him. Most especially to Atton Rand who hadn't won an argument with him to date. "Perhaps argument is too strong a word…" she thought. Mical never rose to the bait, diffusing whatever was thrown in his direction with patience and remarkable intelligence.

Throughout their years on the Hawk and during the Enclave rebuild, Mical had been especially tied to Miriya. It was a holdover from childhood that had turned into a very pure love in adulthood. He felt her pain clearly after the loss of Bao Dur and for years. He wasn't aware of the cause, but he tried so earnestly to help, to heal her and make her whole again that it became overwhelming.

"Suffocating…" Miriya thought, frowning. In those days, she'd held tightly to her pain, as if letting go of it would mean letting go of everything. His honest attempts to help felt like an intrusion and she responded in kind with raised walls and curt words. By the time President Onasi called, he'd exhausted himself trying to reach her and left for Telos, broken hearted.

"Poor, poor darling…" she whispered.

"But how to help?" she thought, "If this isn't Knowt's Disease…who's done this to you?"

Getting to a Galactic Judge was no small feat, but getting to one who was also a Master Jedi and a physician of prodigious skill was worrisome indeed. The irony was that Mical was quite possibly the one person medically skilled enough to have true insight into this problem. Choosing to err on the side of caution, Miriya abandoned the idea of attempting to reach him through the Force. Instead, she sat near his head and leaned in, caressing the area of cheek that was free of tubing.

"Mical…" she whispered, "Mical, it's me…Miriya. I'm here, please hang on...I've brought HK and Atton and we're doing everything we can to figure this out. We won't leave you, I swear…just be patient and keep fighting…"

The machinery hissed rhythmically in response and the Exile felt the pit of her stomach fall.

Chirp. Chirp.

The noise was muffled through the fabric of her pants, but the exile grabbed the small, orange modified commlink before it had the opportunity to sound again.

"Atton?" she whispered.

"Yeah," he grunted, "Where are you?"

"At Central Coruscant…are you alright? Where are you?" she hissed.

"I'm fine, I'm back at the Coruscanti and I might know what this is but I need you to do something. If HK's harvested hairs, take a few more and bring them to me." He replied.

"Alright," she said, "We won't be much longer. See you in a bit."

"See ya," he said.

Odd.

The pilot had sounded almost pained over the comm. Something was wrong…

Leaning in quickly, Miriya ran her fingers through Mical's hair, holding on to the loose strands that tangled in her fingers.

"I have to go now," she murmured in his ear, "Atton may have found something, but I promise you I'll be back. You aren't allowed to go anywhere without me, ok?"

Pressing her lips quickly to his forehead she exited into the hall, rejoining a waiting HK.

"Hk, I…" she began.

"[Interjection]: Master, my aural sensors are not decorative. I suggest we head towards the hotel."

Without another word, the Exile increased her pace, weaving through the halls and out into the bustling walkways of Coruscant. Time passed in a blur as they jogged through the crowds towards their destination. The young master had a decidedly bad feeling about what might await them. Atton had been acting oddly all day. Something just wasn't right.

Entering the lobby, Miriya slowed her pace, striding purposefully across the marble flooring and into the glass elevators. She gripped her elbows tightly to keep from pacing as they ascended, but when the doors opened she moved down the hallway as quickly as she dared. Reaching Atton's room she knocked and waited.

…no response.

"Atton?" she called, knocking sharply. Her efforts were met with silence.

Raising her right hand and moving it in a fluid motion past the door knob; she heard the telltale clicking of the lock as it disengaged. In a moment she was inside, her eyes sweeping around the room. The pilot was stretched out on the floor, facedown. It appeared that he'd gotten as far as the balcony, pushed the door open and collapsed.

Hurrying to his side, the Exile turned him over gently. He was alive, though pale, clammy and shivering. "Hey…" she said gently, "You in there?"

His eyelids flickered, opening to half-mast as he focused on her. "Yeah…" he said quietly, but firmly, "Just don't touch that bottle…whatever you do…"

"Bottle?" she asked. He nodded slowly in response, closing his eyes once more. Eyeing the patio, Miriya noticed a small, purple vial that had rolled towards the railing. It seemed to be lodged there securely so she decided it was probably best left where it was.

"HK, help me get him onto the bed," she said.

The assassin droid moved swiftly, gripping the pilot's ankles as the master lifted him from the shoulders. Atton Rand groaned sharply in pain but quickly settled when they released him from their grasp.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked.

"[Statement]: It appears to be a form of food poisoning, Master. My systems do not indicate that he is in any immediate danger; however he will require continual hydration and rest. Also, you should know that Senator D'Artagne's blood has revealed no anomalies, but I will need to access the Medical Bay on the Ebon Hawk to test his hair."

No anomalies?

Considering the curious state of Mical's penthouse, this was odd.

"Alright HK," she said, "I'll take care of things here, go test the hair."

"Roger!"

As the droid exited into the hall, the Exile turned towards Atton, pushing his long, dark hair away from his clammy forehead. His eyes opened once more and he reached up, taking her wrist and moving it gently away.

"What happened?" she asked, noticing that he hadn't let go.

"Remember when you first took me on?" he whispered.

"Yes," she replied.

"Remember how you didn't want to train me until we dealt with my past?" he asked.

"Yes I do," she said.

"We spent months, opening up all those…memories in meditation," he continued, "You made me face those demons, deal with them and then we put them away. They've been put away so deeply and for so long that I don't recall most of them. But last night, y'know…after I said good-night, I remembered a big one."

"Go on," she said, her curiosity rising. Atton Rand hadn't spoken of his days as a Jedi assassin since their initial meditations. It was a part of his life that he'd tried to sever completely from his memory and until now he'd been quite successful.

"Back then, a job was a job," he said, "I was good at keeping our kind out of my head and I used it to my advantage. It got me close enough to do what I needed to do and the targets never suspected me. Part of what made me so good is that I never stopped looking for different methods. Things that would get the job done quickly, cleanly and without a trace if possible.

The Exile nodded slowly, carefully extricating her wrist and sliding it into her lap with her other hand.

"I specialized in poisons…" he said.

"I know," she whispered as her eyes swept towards her now clasped hands.

"I usually carried a dozen or so on me, but I had access to a few hundred. I also built up one hell of a resistance over the years," he said, "The worst one by far is rolling around in some purple glass out on the balcony. It's called A'den."

"A'den? I've never heard of it…" she said.

"There's a reason for that," he continued, "It comes from this little thorn bush that only grows on Ordo. The name means 'merciless'. The Mandies know about it, but they treat it like a pest and destroy the plants all the time. They aren't the poisoning type you know."

Miriya nodded, that certainly was true, Mandalorians were known for many things but subtlety wasn't one of them.

"Anyhow," he said, "I did some leg work today and tracked some down. Sorry for the dramatics, but I had to make sure it was legit stuff. Normally a drop of that on skin will kill so I only took a mouthful. Back then that wouldn't have done much to me outside of a headache, but it's been a few years."

The Master eyed him sharply, "Are you crazy?" she hissed.

"I know what I'm doing," he said simply, returning her stare with cool, green eyes, "A'den doesn't just kill people outright. They eat it or get it on their skin and it breaks down all their organs. People just start shriveling up and when they die, there's nothing left but skin and bones. It's not pretty and it hurts like hell. I know, I…used it twice back then. On a couple of female Jedi…I put some in my mouth…got close…y'know…the same way I was with you last night and…they were both dead within a day…"

Silence.

Atton Rand slowly sat, leaning forward on his outstretched legs and grimacing. His face was crossed with a mixture of guilt and pain. "Last night I remembered that like it was happening all over again…like it could have been you instead of them…I couldn't stand it…"

The Exile took a deep, slow breath. In ten years, the pilot had become her staunchest ally. He'd defended her and the others more times than she could count. He'd taken on an army of students over the years and was the catalyst for more positive change than any of the other instructors. The guilt of the assassin years pushed him hard to do better and to be accepted by his peers. There was no doubt in her mind that during those years he'd been a slave to the dark side and it was remarkable that he'd come out of it on his own after the war. He'd grown from a non-committal, insecure, scoundrel to a Master Jedi Ace, her equal and compliment in every way. She knew only too well how painful it was for him to venture back to those memories.

"You're giving yourself too much credit Rand, seeing as it took you ten years to get a first kiss from me," she joked, "By now you'd have lost your contract."

He grinned, "Maybe…but I was thinking. If you administered A'dan really slow, using only a little bit, I think you could mimic Knowt's disease. I looked it up; normally it takes a few years for the body to break down. How did he look today?"

"Bad," she said, frowning deeply, "His arms and legs are almost gone."

"That doesn't make sense!" he exclaimed, "It's only been a few weeks which is too fast for an aggressive strain. A'dan doesn't show up in blood or hair so Knowt's would probably be the only thing that fit for the docs."

"If it doesn't show up in blood or hair, why did you want his hair?" Miriya asked.

"I'll show you," he said, taking her hand, "Come with me."


	7. Chapter 7

Atton Rand shielded his eyes with one black, gloved hand and eyed the sky casually. After a moment, he nodded slightly and turned back to the Exile.

"Ok," he said, "It's bright enough. Take a seat."

Miriya Vohn complied immediately, dropping into one of the four wrought iron chairs that surrounded the glass table on his balcony. It was a beautiful afternoon, sunny and clear. She relaxed momentarily as the warmth seeped into her shoulders.

The Pilot swooped low and reached with both hands, grabbing the small, purple vial with his right and gripping the nearest chair with his left. With one twist of his wrist, the chair spun around until the back touched the edge of the table. The Exile smiled. Atton's ambidexterity was something she doubted he even noticed, but to her it was his signature quirk. It was the mark of a good pilot, doing as many opposing things as possible and all at once. His movements were always fluid and it had been no surprise to her at all that he gravitated towards carrying two lightsabers. Standing, he straddled the chair and sat, carefully removing the tiny stopper. His movements were minute and precise and in a moment he'd poured a single violet drop on the glass surface, pushing it to a wide lavender smear with his right thumb.

"The thing about A'dan," he began, "Is that the only way to detect it is by using more. Give me a strand of your hair."

Puzzled, the young master reached up, carefully pulling the bindings from her hair. A stray knotted itself between her fingers which she deftly straightened and handed forward to Atton.

Grasping the fine, chestnut hair, he lowered it onto the A'dan and leaned back, letting the sun hit it. The Exile watched closely, expecting the hair to dissolve on contact. However, after several moments, nothing had changed.

"I don't understand…what am I supposed to be seeing here?" she asked.

"Right now, nothing," he replied, "You haven't been exposed to A'dan, but I have. Now watch this…"

Pouring another drop, he once again smeared it using the same hand and plucked a single black hair from his head. Placing it carefully in the substance, he leaned back once more, allowing the sun to strike it.

Miriya Vohn's eyes widened. The moment the brash pilot's hair hit the poison, it changed from deep black to violet.

"How…?" she began.

"I don't know," he replied, "But that's how it works and that's the only way to tell if it's in someone's system."

"But…it's such a simple test! How could a competent medical staff miss this?" she cried angrily.

"Competence has nothing to do with it sister," he replied testily, "And YOU haven't been listening to me. This poison is RARE and not just your normal kind of rare. It only grows in one place in the entire 'verse and that's on Ordo. For the record, almost nothing grows on Ordo. The only plants there are right on the equator. The Mandies wipe it out every chance they get and they don't exactly go around telling people about it. They think poison is for cowards. To suggest it or mention it to anyone is a clear sign of weakness and you know how much they love weakness. Your average doc isn't going to know anything about this stuff and sure as hell wouldn't have access to a sample of it. As a matter of fact, I don't know anyone who knows about it except me…"

"I thought you said you tracked some down?" she asked, "I assumed that meant there was a black market for it?"

"Nah," he said, scratching the back of his head with his clean, left gloved hand, "What I meant was that I had to track it down by memory. Back when I did this for a living I had caches of poison hidden on most major planets. You never know when you'll get backed into a corner or have your stuff confiscated so it's always good to have a backup nearby. The only stroke of luck we've had so far is that Mical is in such a big place. The problem was my memory. We tucked away so much of that part of my life over so much time that it was really hard for me to remember where it was. I had to start hitting the old haunts, to see if it would bring anything back to me."

"That was a gamble that paid off," Miriya said, "It's been over ten years. It's amazing that your supply hadn't been discovered or destroyed."

Atton grinned slightly, the right side of his mouth curving upwards while his eyes flashed with amusement. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a piece of black cloth and began to meticulously wipe the pools of A'dan. "That was no gamble sweetheart," he replied, "When I hide something it stays hidden and in one piece until I decide to bring it out. You should know that."

Something in his look made the colour rush to her cheeks, but he did have a point. The Exile had never met another person so completely adept at concealment. Over the years he'd managed to completely hide his thoughts and intentions from even the most powerful Jedi masters. He'd also mastered stealth before he ever took his first steps as a Padawan. It was entirely possible that his caches were the best protected in the universe.

"I know," she said quietly, "It took me a long time to trust you."

The pilot paused, eying her sharply, "You know that's the second time I've heard you say that…"

"You know what I mean," she continued, "I'm not talking about the Hawk or the crew or training or the students…I mean with me. I remember when you first taught me to play pazzak in my head. You told me that when I wanted to hide, to go to that place in my mind and you'd be waiting there. I've never forgotten how safe that made me feel, but then I noticed you using the same technique on me. It really knocked me off balance and I never knew if you were really being genuine with me. It made me nervous, like I couldn't really talk to you or let you get too close."

"In the beginning I don't think I was being genuine," he said coolly. Something in his expression flickered. He stood, dropping the black rag onto the table and removed his right glove. Carefully turning it inside out, he released it and let it fall. Turning, he walked to the balcony railing, gripping it slightly with his back to her. "I had no idea how."

The Exile frowned and stood, maneuvering out from behind the table and towards the pilot. Standing just behind his shoulder, she placed her hand on his back. "You've really changed, you know? Old you would've cracked a joke just to get out of answering me."

"Old me was scared of his own shadow," he said, "I did everything I could to avoid being tied to anyone. It was survival. I couldn't let someone like you know what I really was…all those things I'd done…and having that old witch hissing 'murderer' in my ear didn't help either."

"I know," she said, running her fingertips across his shoulder blades.

Atton turned slowly to face her and her hand slid away, falling to her side. He folded his arms, gripping his elbows tightly and eyed her intently. "But you know everything. You've known for years and I keep waiting for you to start hating me. I keep thinking that some day you'll come to me and ask me to leave, but you don't…it almost makes me wonder what's wrong with you."

"Absolutely nothing and I'll never hate you," she said simply, "Perhaps I might if you'd lied or denied your responsibility or felt no remorse but you're the opposite of that. You've punished yourself savagely and you've refused to accept that the dark side had a stranglehold on you when it DID. It's not like I don't understand the call and it's not like I've never seen what happens to people who succumb to it. I've always been in awe of your ability to walk away from it by yourself, to be totally honest. I've never heard of anyone walking away on their own."

The pilot relaxed slightly, releasing the grip on his elbows, "Walking away was no picnic. You know how much damage it did. I can't relax, I have to keep my guard up against it or I'll undo everything."

"We all do," she replied, "That's why we're all so much stronger together."

"Kissing you was horrible…" he began, the tension evident in his voice, "As soon as I did it, I flashed back to 15 years ago and those female Jedi. It was like I was killing you…"

Miriya moved forward quickly, raised her hands to his face and pulled his mouth to hers. She was exceedingly gentle, the kiss was very sweet and slow. When she pulled away, she eyed him curiously. "Was that horrible?" she asked softly, arching a brow.

His arms unfolded and his slid his hands around her waist, pulling her close. "No," he whispered, his eyes blazing.

"There are no coincidences Atton," she said softly, "That memory is a horrible one, but without it you wouldn't have remembered the A'dan."

"I know," he replied, kissing her forehead softly, "I'm glad we talked, but I'm going to need some time to wrap my brains around it all if that's ok?"

"You and me both," she replied.

"Now," he continued, "I hate to change the subject, but we're both really avoiding what we need to do here."

Miriya Vohn frowned, "You're right…but…what do we do if the test is positive? Can we cure him?"

Atton released her gently and took her hand, leading her back to the table. When they were seated across from each other once more, his expression became focused and serious as he pulled on his glove once more. Moving the rag aside, he reached for the bottle.

"If this does come out positive, there's no cure," he replied softly, "For Knowt's they could at least remove the affected limbs and hope for the best but A'dan goes through the bloodstream as soon as you touch it. It would be everywhere by now. If it's positive, the best that will come out of this is that we'll be able to track who's behind it. Outside of me, there's maybe a handful of potentials. I'm sorry Miriya, but if it's positive…he'll die."

The young Master took a deep breath, biting the inside of her bottom lip. Reaching into her pouch, she pulled out the carefully stored hairs and held them out to Atton. The gold strands brought a flood of images to her mind. Of the moment they met and how she'd blushed at his low bow and courtly manners. Of how hard he'd worked to revive Bao Dur as they fled from Malachor and of how utterly shattered he'd been when his best efforts failed.

She remembered finding him in storage, covered in blood and sitting on the floor with his elbows on his knees. His fingers had gripped his blonde hair so tightly that he'd pulled out some at the root. It was the only time she'd witnessed him in any other state than calm and the anguish of his failure that night had rivaled her own pain. Dropping to her knees and without saying a word, she'd moved her arms around his big shoulders, pulling him close and stroking his hair until he relaxed and pulled her into his lap. She recalled how they'd held each other tightly in the hours it took for them to get back to Telos. He'd loved her so dearly and in the years after Malachor he'd tried so hard to heal her grief. Her heart stung as she remembered how forcefully she'd pushed him away. She remembered the day he left for Telos. His pale, blue eyes had been as bright and clear as the sky. He'd stood tall and his features were a mask of calm that concealed the agony beneath the surface. His good-bye was as polite and sterile as either of them could rightly stand.

Frowning, she looked to Atton. His green eyes were cool, but his jaw clenched, his mouth a straight, serious line. Pouring one last drop and smearing it, he reached with his free hand and carefully took a single, blonde strand. Lowering it gently onto the surface, he leaned back.

Violet.


	8. Chapter 8

Violet.

Miriya's thought process detonated. Every idea, every memory that she held up to that point exploded in a violent supernova. In a panic, she tried to cling to what little reality that remained but it felt like drowning. She couldn't breathe. Atton's lips were moving, but she couldn't hear. He was just across the table from her but she could barely see him. Her limbs had become foreign and everything started to go dark.

WRONG.

It's wrong. It had to be wrong.

The young master's arm began to move independently towards the small pool of A'dan. She barely had enough focus to maintain her grip on the remaining blonde strands of hair, yet her arm was moving. She stared, almost curiously, watching this strange limb extend.

Atton reacted in a flash, quickly grabbing her wrist and holding it firmly above the poison. His touch shocked her somewhat and she raised her eyes to his. His face was flooded with a concern that she'd never witnessed in him before. Strangely, nothing inside her responded. She eyed him dispassionately and released the hairs, watching them as they fell, flashing amethyst on the glass surface. They looked like the escaped bristles of an artist's brush. The colour of mountaintops and wildflowers seeped up each shaft and there could be no other interpretation of the results.

An anger unlike anything the Exile had ever felt erupted deep within. Her vision flared amber as she stared at the table. It felt as if the power of the entire universe was at her feet. It was a strength she had never tasted before and it felt so right, so utterly virtuous. Mical's face flashed into her memory and she saw his habitual shy smile, how sharp his eyes would look when he focused and how raw his features could become when he grieved. The memory of his sweet, gentle nature assailed her thoughts, how he smelled, how he felt on that long night to Telos. In spite of her own personal demons, he'd chosen her utterly, he couldn't help but love her. The recollection of her behavior stung more than ever. In that moment she knew that she would find the culprit and when she did…

NO.

Without raising her head, she felt Atton's concern shift to alarm.

He knew.

Miriya was uncertain as to what exactly he knew, but it was clear that her feelings were cascading forward like a waterfall. She knew that the more he sensed of her thoughts, the more likely he would be to confront her and try to quell her rage. He could never understand. This anger was no dark impulse, it was absolutely righteous. It was strength in its purest form and not to be feared. She felt that if it could be harnessed she would gain a clarity that would be otherwise impossible. Atton was so sensitive, so hyper-vigilant against any perceived negativity that he would do his best to disrupt her focus. Pausing, Master Vohn took a moment, breathing deeply and slowly closing off her feelings one by one, vowing to meditate and deal with them properly as soon as possible. It was a deception, but a mild one. Atton need not worry without reason. Shutting down all thoughts of Mical would alert him in an instant so she kept them, locking away large portions of the rage attached.

When she was certain that she'd regained control, she raised her eyes to the brash pilot. "I…I think I'm alright," she said softly.

The Jedi Ace eyed her guardedly, his sharp expression threatening to tear down her walls.

"Alright," she said, her voice cracking slightly, "I've been better…but that won't help Mical. Atton, who could have done this? What's our next step?"

Taking a breath, he relaxed, taking time to wipe away the last of the poison.

"Now? We have some work to do," he replied, "Unless things have changed, there are four others who've used this stuff. Three, Six, Eight and Nine."

The Exile's features hardened, "I thought you said that you didn't know anyone else who knew about A'dan?" she asked coldly.

"Well," he began, "That is true. I don't actually KNOW the others, but I know OF them."

Seeing the look on her face, Atton Rand continued, "Look, I don't know their names, I've never seen them. We were all numbers back then, but I know how to find them. For real trouble, we had a plan to find one another. I have to set some things in motion by myself, but I'll come back for you in a few hours. You…look kind of pale. Maybe you should get some rest?"

Lies. All this time, all these years, all their closeness and Atton still dabbled in the occasional half-truth. The knowledge ate at her, whispering to her that he didn't really need to go alone, that he was hiding something. That he'd failed to mention the others initially meant he knew more than he was letting on. Perhaps he'd known the culprit all along? The carefully walled up anger inside began to pulsate at its restraints and she knew she needed a distraction.

"Atton…what number were you?" she asked.

He reddened, his eyes sliding away from hers and to the left. "I was Ten." he replied quietly, eying the cold stone of the balcony.

Before the silence could get too uncomfortable, the Exile stood, moving towards the railing, "I think a rest is a decent idea," she said, "But you know I won't be able to...perhaps I will visit Mical for a bit. Get in touch with me when you want to meet up, ok?"

The pilot nodded as the young master jumped nimbly from his balcony to her own. He pulled himself to his feet, watching her retreat into her room, his features knotted in concern. Something wasn't quite right. He'd felt an initial, powerful burst of anger, followed by a slow regain of control. Logic was telling him that things were alright. He'd certainly felt her get angry and regain composure before, but his body was in disagreement. His stomach had a deep knot and the fine, black hairs on his arms were standing up. This physical reaction had saved his life on more than one occasion. It's as if his body knew when he was in imminent danger even before his senses. It was deeply disturbing that he was reacting in this way to her. He frowned as he headed inside. Attaching his weapon to his belt, he headed for the door, forcing thoughts of her from his mind. Whatever might be happening, it would have to wait for now.

In the neighbouring suite, the Exile sat cross-legged, focusing on the walled up rage that was threatening to explode. Her hands were hot as her head throbbed. It seemed that once she quelled one angry thought, another sprang up in its place. Meditation had always been so much more effective and comfortable with Mical. Just sitting in position was a painful reminder. The doubts about Atton began to nag at her conscience.

"UGH!" she snapped, standing quickly, "This just isn't going to do it, I need to get out of here!"

Grabbing her Comm, she contacted HK aboard the Hawk, "Are you there?" she snapped.

"[Statement] I am ready, Master. Is there something I can eviscerate for you?"

The Exile shuddered. "No HK, not at the moment. I need you to follow Master Rand. At no point should he be aware of your presence. I want you to report every move he makes to me."

"Rrrrrrrroger!" the Comm blared.

With that, Miriya Vohn turned on her heel and headed for the door, hoping desperately that the physical exertion of running to the hospital would help soothe her. Passing the gilded mirror on the wall, she eyed herself quickly. Rand was right. She was very pale indeed.


End file.
